


Where I Can't Follow

by IamHobbes



Category: Haikyuu!!, The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
Genre: M/M, big yearning energy, someone had to do it, time traveler's wife au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamHobbes/pseuds/IamHobbes
Summary: "He finds himself fading at random hours of the day— sometimes while eating breakfast, sometimes as he’s walking down the street— leaving behind only a dropped spoon, incredulous passers-by, and his last, fleeting breath. From his skin to his bones, he is displaced and sent either to the past or to the future, depending on his luck."Time-traveling against his will, Takeda hates to be when Ukai is not.
Relationships: Takeda Ittetsu/OMC, Takeda Ittetsu/Ukai Keishin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

He should be used to it by now.

Time, after all, is just another disease. It ebbs and flows inside each person until nothing is left but painful dust. Everything is bound to age, as age is bound to everything, pushing forward into a single direction without so much as a glance behind. Time is a disease, and all grow sick of it. Takeda Ittetsu, more so than others.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks when his body whisks him away from the present and leaves him disoriented in a moment that was decades ago, or a week from now, or an hour before— he thinks: _Please_ , his lungs gasping for air as he breaks into a new, unfamiliar minute. He puts his head in his hands while he steadies himself. _Not this again_. 

He doesn’t choose to be _when_ he isn’t, when he _shouldn’t_ be. If anything, Takeda hopes for a quiet life. There are people who might find being an anomaly exciting, but not him, no. It just so happens that his entire being (be it a wrong strand of DNA, or an error by the deities) refuses to let him live with the chronic. It just so happens that he can’t stay in the now.

Because of that, he finds himself fading at random hours of the day— sometimes while eating breakfast, sometimes as he’s walking down the street— leaving behind only a dropped spoon, incredulous passers-by, and his last, fleeting breath. From his skin to his bones, he is displaced and sent either to the past or to the future, depending on his luck. There is no escape. He has to go. When he disappears, it’s like clockwork. No matter how much he doesn’t want to, time pulls him into itself and keeps him there, until it decides to let him be.

Today, he is being forced to leave behind the bleached blond man who snores while holding him tight in his sleep. Takeda barely turns his head before he sinks into the depths of yesterday, the warmth dissipating from the other man’s touch. Takeda hears the man moan ‘sensei’ and suddenly he’s gone. He’s lying on the side of the road, who knows when, staring at the afternoon sun.

He should be used to it by now.


	2. First Meeting (1)

**August 12, 1991**

**Ukai is 5, Takeda is 32**

Sakanoshita opens at 7:30 a.m. 

Keishin is proud to say that he knows this for a fact because his dad taught him how to read a bunch of numbers and that’s what the clock says when his mom wakes him up in the morning before she goes to open the store. Today, like most days, she shakes Keishin awake, sits him up on his futon, puts a t-shirt over his head and smooths down the floppy, black bangs hanging over his sleepy eyes. “Come, my little shopkeeper,” she hums, taking his hand. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t _want_ , mommy,” he whines like he always does at this time, only half-awake. His mom laughs as she lifts him up into her arms and carries him out the bedroom, down the stairs, into the living room, and out the hall that connects their house to the store. She is used to Keishin putting up a fuss, knows how to handle it by now, and is aware that her son’s favorite pastime is running around barefoot in their backyard while yelling at the grass— “You can play outside after,” she bribes him, nuzzling his nose. As long as she promises to let him do that later in the day, he more or less cooperates with her.

They walk inside the store. Balancing him on her hip, she flips the switch that turns all the lights on. Then, crossing the register towards the entrance, Keishin reaches out to flip the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’ while his mom unlocks the doors— the ritual between them that signifies the start of the day. True to form, it only takes a few minutes for the first customer to come around: an old lady with a kind eye, looking for sesame oil, light soy sauce, and brown sugar to cook with for dinner that night. Keishin’s mom indulges her with small talk and town gossip as she rummages for the woman’s grocery items, setting Keishin down beside her.

“Oh, you know how it is,” his mom says, picking up a bottle. “I heard her husband is out of town for a business trip.”

“Such a shame,” the woman comments, shaking her head. “Young couples nowadays are so fickle.”

“Mommy,” Keishin cuts in. “M’hungry.”

“Your father will finish cooking in a bit, dear,” his mom tells him.

“Why, hello there, little one,” the woman coos at Keishin once she notices him poking his head over the counter. He jumps at the attention and hides behind his mom’s legs, clutching at her apron. Then, after careful thought, he promptly sticks his tongue out at the lady with all his might.

“ _Behave_ ,” his mom reprimands him as the old woman chuckles. She makes him bow in apology. “I’m very sorry for that, Mrs. Sato.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, my grandchildren are the same way,” the woman says as his mom bags her purchases and hands it to her. She leaves as another regular customer comes in, waving in greeting. His mom sits Keishin on her lap but he squirms off. “ _Hungry_ ,” he mutters, rubbing his belly under his shirt. Preoccupied with the customer, his mom lets him wander to the other end of the store. Keishin walks down the aisles, in search of a snack that will probably ruin his appetite for breakfast. _Hungry_ , he thinks again, going for the furthest aisle that houses energy bars and candy. He turns the corner, wondering what he should pick. 

Keishin stops dead in his tracks.

There’s a man with dark, curly brown hair lying unconscious on the white, linoleum floor. He is wearing glasses, green boxers, and not much else. His arms are spread out beside him, taking up space. His mouth is half-open, drooling.

Keishin’s heart pounds in his chest. Who was this man? What was he doing here? How long had he been here, obstructed from view by the shelves? Keishin stands there, afraid, unsure of what to do. “Mommy...”

Suddenly, the man coughs and stirs. His eyes open slowly and he looks to his sides, taking in his surroundings. He sighs, both in recognition and frustration, and begins to sit up. Keishin, unable to move, squeaks. The man’s eyes widen. His head whips toward Keishin who is staring at him, looking like he’s about to cry. The man blinks for a second before putting a finger to his lips. Keishin takes a step back. “Mommy...” he calls again, weakly. “Mommy, there’s... there’s a man...”

“Please,” the man whispers, motioning him to be quiet. His face is red and pleading. “Please, Keishin.”

The hairs on Keishin’s arms stand up, as though electrified. He points a finger at himself. “Eh? How do you know my name?”

The man cracks a small smile then winces, clutching at his side.

“Are you hurt?” Keishin stage-whispers, taking a step closer. The man shakes his head. He takes a minute to compose himself, breathing fast. Keishin looks on in concern.

“... Who are you?” he asks. The man exhales, meeting his eyes. “I’m your friend.”

“I don’t know you—“ Keishin protests under his breath, then hears the jangling of chimes signaling that the customer has left. The two tense up as his mom calls out: “Keishin? Where are you? You better not be snacking before meals!”

Keishin looks at the man who nods at him to respond. “No, mommy...”

The man inches closer, holding his side. Keishin stays still. The man puts a hand on his chest and tries for a genuine smile. “Call me sensei.”

“Sensei...?” Keishin repeats in confusion. “But—“

“Keishin, what are you doing?” His mom’s voice rings out, sternly. “Come here, now.”

“Mommy...” Keishin says, eyes locked on the man. The man is sweating, looking panicked. He shakes his head, pale. He tries to kneel, but then suddenly falls forward, his hand catching Keishin’s skinny shoulder. Keishin screams at the touch, stepping away, letting the man hit the floor, glasses sliding off his face.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” His mom shouts, running towards Keishin’s voice. As her footsteps draw closer, Keishin watches as the man begins to fade— literally, _fade—_ out, becoming translucent, clear, invisible— disappearing into nothingness, as the space behind him began to solidify; as if he were never there. Keishin catches his gaze before he’s gone completely, murmuring ‘sensei’.

“Keishin, what on earth—?” his mom cries, finding her son staring into space. She takes his arms and shakes him, hard. “What’s wrong?”

Keishin looks at her, blankly. “There— there was a man...”

“A man? Where?” His mom frowns, looking behind her. 

Keishin stares at the glasses left behind on the floor. He shakes his head.

“He’s gone now.”


	3. Lover (1)

**December 13, 2010**

**Takeda is 26**

From outside, rain cascades down the kitchen window— hard and fast, making the glass difficult to see through. Streaks of light from passing cars come and go, with thunder rumbling every so often. It’s only afternoon, but the storm clouds beg to disagree. 

The apartment sits on the 3rd floor of its building, overlooking the drenched town; small for the most part, with only one bedroom. Humid for the other part, with a faulty radiator. The lights fluctuate now and then, not because of the rain, but because the miserly landlord couple refuses to replace the bulbs. The faucets leak and the walls go moist. One hears the floorboards creak at random hours of the day from the upstairs tenants walking around. 

The place obviously isn’t perfect; it’s only mildly comfortable for the cost it brings. Not just that, but there’s a good deal of mess going on inside— the kind of lived-in clutter that’s difficult to do away with: A black and crumpled tie underneath a spoon in the living room. A cup of tea sitting untouched on the dining table surrounded by a pile of papers. Two pens and a leather satchel on the floor. Two pairs of underwear on the bedroom dresser. _Still_ , Takeda thinks, turning a page of the book he’s reading— an anthology of poems on the topic of love, whose various poets explore the meanings of the word using the same old, tired image of the beating heart (as if love is so natural that it keeps us alive)— _Still_ , Takeda thinks, scratching his nose. Poets are true. _It’s home_. 

“Hello? Earth to Ittetsu.”

He looks up from his book, surprised. “Oh,” Takeda goes. He bookmarks the page he’s reading and turns, apologetic. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.”

“I asked how your job interview went,” Daisuke repeats, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He pulls up a chair and sits down. “It was today, wasn’t it?” 

Takeda nods, sitting down as well. Daisuke was from the same college as him. Under the same course, in fact, though two years his senior. When Daisuke graduated, he became a literature professor at one of the prefecture’s top universities. He’s been part of the faculty for almost three years now. More than that, Daisuke is among the few people that know about Takeda’s time traveling problem. Not that Takeda could keep it from, given their romance.

Their relationship blossomed slowly, like a late spring— long awaited for and beautiful, as Daisuke would describe it. It took awhile for their late night study sessions to move from libraries to their dorms, but when they decided to get together in the end, it was more than worth the wait. Daisuke loved Takeda in spite of time, forever against the odds. Takeda loved Daisuke like a calendar: every single day.

Daisuke brushes his long brown hair out of his dark brown eyes, looking at Takeda expectantly. When he stays quiet, Daisuke prods: “You went, right?”

“I did,” Takeda mumbles, not meeting Daisuke’s eyes. He takes off his glasses and wipes the lenses on the hem of his shirt, sighing. He had applied for a teaching position at a high school in the neighboring town. Karasuno was the name. The administration was looking for someone who could teach modern Japanese literature, specifically. It was the best opportunity that had presented itself to Takeda in awhile. “I think it went... well.”

“Hm.” Daisuke raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “No untoward incidents?”

“No...” Takeda replies. He hadn’t disappeared into thin air and gotten lost somewhere twenty years ago while in the middle of being interviewed, which was fortunate. But, he had been nervous the entire time that he might, and ruin his chances of being hired altogether. Being chronologically-impaired is hard enough without factoring in an occupation. The fact is, it would be almost impossible if he weren’t stubborn enough to try.

Still, Takeda doesn’t want to be a burden of an employee— or worse, a bad teacher— though he desperately wants to proceed with a life that resembles something normal. _It’s all very discouraging_ , he thinks as he speaks: “... But I don’t know for how long I can keep that up.”

“You look so stressed,” Daisuke notes, crossing his legs. “I don’t understand. You’ve wanted this for a long time. You’ve been staying in the present consistently for a week now. There’s no reason to feel down yet.”

Takeda sighs, listening to the patter of rain. “I suppose.” He doesn’t mean to wallow in self-pity; is usually more optimistic than this. He just hopes that all will fall into place this time. He’s persistent, not naive. 

“Tettsun.”

Daisuke stands up and walks over to the back of Takeda’s chair. It’s the nickname he uses in affection, the one he murmurs into Takeda’s hair at night. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and leans in with his elbows resting Takeda’s shoulders. 

“I know you.”

Takeda leans back. _Don’t worry_ , Daisuke means. _We’ll figure it out together_. Their cheeks brush against each other, warm. Daisuke press his lips against the side of Takeda’s head. Takeda takes his hand and holds it close to his chest, heart beating fast. 

It’s just enough to keep him in the here and now.


	4. Gravity

**July 23, 1995**

**Ukai is 9, Takeda is 31**

“Sensei, are you a god?”

“Eh?” The summer sun beats down on the streets of Miyagi. Everywhere, people are dressed in their lightest clothes. Children on bicycles ride with popsicles in their mouths. They savor the sweetness dripping down their chins. Stray dogs run past, chasing each other’s tails, slipping into alleyways and out the back of dumpsters. It’s an atmosphere that draws the warmth out of everyone. There’s little reason to be inside unless there’s an air conditioner waiting. Wiping sweat from his brow, Takeda turns to the boy beside him who is sitting cross-legged on the grass. He tilts his head in confusion at the sudden question. “What makes you say that?”

This is one of the many times that Takeda meets young Keishin Ukai— one of the many instances where their paths intersect. He’s been traveling to Keishin’s childhood for quite some time now, as though gravity were pulling him there, making him witness the change. He’s seen Keishin age from a child clinging to his mom’s hand to a boy delighted in losing his baby teeth. It wasn’t surprising that they had formed a bond over the years: That of a child and his secret, unimaginable friend. They are at a lonesome corner of a park where no one can see them, dodging Keishin’s parents who are at home and minding the store. By principle, Takeda kept out of sight, in case he were to fade away all of a sudden.

“I dunno,” Keishin says, picking at the grass. His black bangs stick to his damp forehead. He speaks as though he is stating facts. “You’re magic, right?”

“Er, no,” Takeda laughs. It’s almost an apology. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. He wasn’t expecting such a candid assumption. Keishin frowns as Takeda says: “I don’t think so, at least.”

“Hmph.” Keishin crosses his arms and falls back into the grass. The look on his face suggests that he’s not satisfied. He squints at the blue sky which makes his nose twitch. “Then how can you go back in time and disappear and all that?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions today, Keishin,” Takeda hums, fondly. As a high school teacher, he appreciates the enthusiasm. Keishin’s ears go red, embarrassed by the praise.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Takeda admits, lifting a leaf beside him. He’s asked himself the same thing a few million times. He’s never come close to an actual answer. “Being a deity would be fun, though, wouldn’t it?” Takeda smiles. The truth is, he thinks, the most likely reason for his chronic excursions is that he’s sick. No doctor has ever believed him, sure, but Takeda assumes that it must be a symptom of some sort. The science behind it is flimsy, though he did attempt to research it once. In the end, he concluded that he’s probably a mutation or a string of genes gone wrong. He’s given up on pursuing that sort of reasoning, though. It never did him any good.

“But why keep it a secret?” Keishin asks, scratching his head. He wiggles his toes, dangling a slipper on a raised foot. 

“Well, it’s hard to believe, even if I did tell people,” Takeda replies. He sets the leaf on the palm of his hand and traces its veins with a finger. The real answer is that he wants to minimize the chances of messing with how things are supposed to turn out— impossible as that may be, depending also on whether one accepts pre-determination. “It might be more trouble than it’s worth, too.”

Keishin chews on that a second, rubbing an eye. Takeda doesn’t expect him to understand; not when he understands so little himself. Keishin rolls over on his stomach, a thoughtful expression on his face. Takeda lets the breeze blow his leaf away.

“Do you meet a younger you when you travel?”

“Sometimes.”

“If I had powers like yours,” Keishin confesses, grinning wide, “I’d tell myself everything about the future! Like answers to my exams, that kinda stuff.”

Takeda chuckles, shaking his head. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Something about Keishin’s candidness reminds Takeda of the older Keishin— _his_ Keishin— the one in Takeda’s present. He ruffles the boy’s hair in mock chide: “You know that’s cheating.”

“Yeah, but then I’d get good grades and mom would be happy and let me have a gameboy.” Takeda struggles not to smile. He doesn’t condone academic dishonesty, no matter how adorable. “You could always study a little harder,” he reminds the boy, gently.

“No thanks.”

“I believe in you, Keishin.”

Keishin’s ears go red again. He changes the topic, fast. “Sensei, when will you tell me your real name? It’s unfair. You know mine.”

Takeda considers. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“You keep saying that,” Keishin whines. “Why not now?”

“I’m sorry,” Takeda says. He means it, too. Keishin sighs and gets up, placing his hands on his hips. Takeda looks up at him, his outline against the sun. “You have to be patient,” he tells him. Keishin steps forward into the light.

“Why?”

“Nothing is ever instantaneous—“

“I mean... Why do _I_ have to be patient?” Keishin meets Takeda’s eyes. Of all the people, of all the times, with the vast world around them. Keishin’s face is unreadable. He rubs his arm when he speaks: “Sensei, why do you always come back to me?”

Takeda blinks, cheeks going pink. He look from the boy with curious eyes to the sun above them. “Well,” he murmurs, taking Keishin’s hands. “I suppose some things are just meant to happen.”


	5. First Meeting (2)

**August 7, 2012**

**Ukai is 26, Takeda is 28**

Sakanoshita opens at 7:30 a.m.

Ukai knows this for a fact because ever since he graduated from high school, he’s been hauling his ass out of bed to walk the five blocks from his house to the house he grew up in, and by extension, the store he’s now responsible for managing. He trudges through the streets with his hands shoved in his pockets and yawns while he unlocks the doors, prepared for another mundane shift. From Monday to Saturday, he puts on his apron, steams the pork buns, re-stocks the shelves with cup noodles, and so on. The routine is simple and he doesn’t hate having inherited it. Besides, he can smoke on the job.

Today, he arrives a little earlier than usual and decides to grab a can of coffee from the vending machine out front. He enters the store, lets his parents know that he’s there, and gulps down the caffeine in one go. He takes a seat behind the register and lights up a cigarette, taking a long, long drag. Then, he brings out the manga volume he’s been re-reading and waits for a customer to come in.

It’s a slow morning. Not even the regulars turn up, though it’s an hour in. Ukai doesn’t mind, though these kind of days can be such a damn bore. Still, he guesses, it’s better than if the store were packed with senile grandmas or, worse, rowdy high schoolers. God knows he used to be one. They loiter around, eat nothing but junk, and can’t keep their voices down if their lives depended on it. There are times when Ukai wishes he still had the energy to be that young, but at his disposition, he might as well be older than his gramps.

Minutes pass uninterrupted. His mom comes by to dust the shelves and eventually goes back inside the house. He turns a page of the manga he has open and traces a lazy finger down the lines of the art. He’s a fan of the style, but the story is hard to follow— not that it makes any difference. A demon, a detective, what have you. It’s all fine to him. What matters is that it keeps him preoccupied during the dead hours at work. Ukai isn’t hard to please, in that regard.

The door chimes ring and a customer comes in. _Finally_ , he thinks while closing the book. Just when he was getting tired of his own thoughts. “Welcome to Sakanoshita,” Ukai says, without looking up. “How can I help—“

“Hello!”

Ukai’s raises an eyebrow at the greeting as his eyes land on the man in front of him. The world fall away. In an instant, the blood drains out of his face. He can’t breathe, can’t move.

“I’m sorry to bother you at work. My name is Takeda Ittetsu. I’m a teacher at Karasuno High School.”

_Takeda_ , Ukai repeats in his head, his chest almost caving in. He feels like he might faint, is sure he is about to. The man in front of him smiles politely. The man named _Takeda_ _Ittetsu_. 

“This might seem out of the blue, but a colleague referred me to this store. She said Keishin Ukai works here...?”

Was he dreaming? Having a stroke? Going insane? “That’s— that’s me,” Ukai breathes. It takes all his might not to clutch at his pounding heart.

“Oh!” Takeda looks pleased, and continues on. “You see, I’ve been recently assigned...”

He goes on about being assigned as the faculty adviser for the men’s volleyball club, despite not having any experience. He admits that he wants to do his best for the kids that he’s looking after, which is why he’s looking for a coach. He claims to have done research and, after asking around about his gramps, became aware that Ukai still plays the sport. He thought he might be interested in the position, that perhaps he might like to see the kids play? He knows it’s a lot to ask of a complete stranger, “But please,” he bows. “Will you consider?”

Ukai catches none of this, too busy with his head spinning atop his shoulders. He can’t stop staring at Takeda’s face. He can’t stop listening to the sound of Takeda’s voice. He can’t believe that Takeda was right there, in front of him. Real. “I— ah, I mean... I don’t...” Ukai stammers. What the hell was he getting himself into? He tries pinching his arm behind his back. Nothing changes. Takeda is still in front of him. Still standing there, solid. Ukai is so incredulous that he barely hears himself say: “Okay. Okay, sure.”

“Wait. Really?” Takeda blinks. He probably thought it would take more convincing than that. Figures. What Ukai’s agreeing to is probably crazier than at first glance. Takeda’s face breaks into a smile as he grabs Ukai’s hand and shakes it hard. “Oh, thank you so much, Ukai-kun! I promise, this will be worth while.”

“Yeah,” Ukai mutters, clenching his jaw. He thinks his skin might burn. Takeda rattles on about practice hours and how Ukai should come see the kids on the court as soon as possible. Sweat pools down Ukai’s back. His lungs are filled with smoke. As Takeda begins talking about the inter-high prelims, Ukai cuts in, unable to take it any longer.

“Ah, sensei—“ He says, the word sour on his tongue. _Sensei,_ he thinks, astonished at how easily it tumbles out of him. _Damn it_. Damn it all.

“Yes?”

“Please don’t freak out,” Ukai starts. He takes a deep breath. Takeda looks at him expectantly as he goes on: “This is gonna sound blunt, but have you time traveled recently?”

Everything slows down. Takeda’s eyes go wide. He takes a step back, as though Ukai had pushed him. Ukai’s hand trembles, reaching out. _No, wait_ , he wants to say. _Please don’t go_. Just then, a customer comes in and lines up behind Takeda. Ukai tries for a smile. The customer hums as she reads through her grocery list. Takeda is frozen in place.

Ukai leans in so that the new customer won’t overhear. He tries to seem as unthreatening as possible. “Are you free tonight, sensei?” He asks, meeting Takeda’s gaze. “Look, let me explain how I know what I know.”

Takeda blinks, in an attempt to compose himself. He looks like he’s about to pass out. He rubs the nape of his neck as he nods. “I— yes. Of course.”

“Great.” Ukai gets a pen and a napkin and writes down an address of a nearby restaurant. He hands it over to Takeda. “See you there.”

Takeda leaves and Ukai spends the whole shift in a daze. He finds that, by the end of lunch alone, he’s smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. He resists the urge to lose his nerve entirely and tries (and fails) to focus on other tasks. When he gets off at 5 p.m., he feels like he’s going to throw up. _There’s no time for that_ , he reprimands himself, as he runs home. When he gets there he takes his time, showering and brushing his teeth. He stares at himself, naked, in the mirror, acutely disappointed at what he sees. The bleached hair pushed back, the ear piercings he has on; he looks like an overgrown delinquent. Still, he can’t blame himself for being self-conscious. It’s his first time seeing sensei— _Takeda_ — (will he ever get used to that?) again in, what? 7 years? Ukai tries to picks out an outfit that doesn’t make him look like a loser, settling for an orange shirt and jeans. As he walks to the restaurant he debates on whether he should buy flowers or something. He decides against it. It might be too weird.

When he gets to the restaurant, he asks for a table for two. He reads through the menu, choosing to refrain from ordering until Takeda comes. Ukai focuses on deciding what to get (noodles? fish? meat?) for the better part of an hour. The waiter gives him a dirty look as he asks for a refill of water. He wipes sweat from his forehead, anxious at the thought of being here alone. Just when he thinks he’s been stood up, Takeda arrives, walking to his table with an apologetic smile. “Sensei,” Ukai greets in relief. He thinks he might explode.

“Ukai-kun,” Takeda says, bowing slightly. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He pulls up the chair opposite to Ukai.

“Hey, no problem.”

They sit in uncomfortable silence for awhile after ordering food. Ukai’s throat feels constricted and he can’t bring himself to look the other man in the eye. He wants to hit himself. _Say something, idiot,_ he chides himself _._ He swallows hard and is about to open his mouth when Takeda’s voice startles him back into reality.

“So—“ Takeda gives a kind smile. He’s likely just as nervous as Ukai. He reaches for his chopsticks and looks down at his plate. “Have we met before?”

It’s such a simple question, it makes Ukai want to laugh. Or cry, he’s not sure. It’s fine, though, because it helps him finally remember how to breathe. He exhales, taking his own chopsticks and weighing them in his hand. He pauses and tries to find the best way to answer Takeda’s question.

“I met you when I was real young. Probably 5 or 6 years old,” he starts. “I grew up with you hanging around, helping me with homework and stuff. Like, in elementary, you taught me how to read English. And you tutored me in Japanese literature when I was high school. Since I was a kid, you just kept appearing at random where I was and I went along with it, y’know? I never told my parents or anyone. It was like having an imaginary friend—but, ah,” Ukai blushes. Of course— they were more than... friends. But he doesn’t know if he should bring that up.

Takeda looks at Ukai, clearly overwhelmed. When he speaks it’s in an apologetic rush: “I’m sorry, Ukai-kun,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “I’m afraid none of that has happened for me yet.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Ukai replies, scratching the back of his head. “It’s weird. It’s like I know everything and nothing about you. I know how you like to cook your nikujaga in dashi, but I only learned your real name today. For my whole childhood, I only knew you as ‘sensei’.”

Takeda considers this, chuckling a little. “Time is a strange thing, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” Ukai laughs.

“Well...” Takeda says. “At least we can get to know each other better now, Ukai-kun.”

Ukai grins. “I’d like that.”

As their food arrives, they say thanks for their meals and begin to eat while asking each other questions. _Where are you from? How old are you now? Favorite past time?_ Etc. Ukai listens carefully; hangs on to every word. He’s determined to remember all Takeda says. He is so in love with this man in front of him, this man who he’s known all his life, this man he’s meeting for the first time all over again. It’s a miracle they are right here, right now: Present, at the same time, sharing each other’s company. When they finish eating and pay, Ukai isn’t ready for him to leave yet. He stands up and puts a hand on Takeda’s shoulder.

“Hey, sensei. Do you need me to walk you home?”

“Oh,” Takeda says, waving a hand. “I wouldn’t want to hassle you.”

“It’s fine. I’m not that far—“

“Tettsun?”

The two look behind them. Standing there is a man in a brown coat, wearing a satchel bag. He nods at Takeda, phone in his hand, then waves at Ukai.

“Ukai-kun,” Takeda tells him happily. “This is my fiancé, Daisuke.”

Ukai feels his heart stop. He drops his hand from Takeda’s shoulder. It’s all he can do to keep standing upright.

“Are you ready?” Daisuke asks Takeda, placing an arm around his waist. Takeda leans into him in response. 

“Yes.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

As they start walking out the restaurant, Takeda turns to Ukai, smiling. “Thank you for the dinner, Ukai-kun. Let’s talk more soon.” 


	6. Lover (2)

** September 22, 2012 **

**Takeda is 28**

“I’m home!”

Takeda removes his shoes and steps into the apartment. He closes the door behind him and turns the three locks. As he pads towards the living room, the smell of steamed fish fills the air. There’s a hint of fresh ginger and spring onions, too. After a long day, Takeda is relieved to arrive to such a welcoming scent. His stomach rumbles as he sets down his backpack and takes off his jacket. It’s around 8 p.m. and he still has papers to grade. He decides he’ll save them for until after dinner.

Standing in the kitchen is Daisuke. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is tied back as he looks down at the recipe on his phone. “Good to know,” he replies, reaching for a knife to chop more vegetables. He smiles as Takeda walks over to him. “How was work?”

“Oh, we finished late,” Takeda answers, leaning a hip against the counter. Their faculty meeting had gone on longer than expected thanks to a discussion on student infractions. Personally, he thought it could have waited for another session, but the vice principal was adamant, and no one could refuse him. Takeda waves his hand, dismissing the thought. He doesn’t want to bore his fiancé with the details of what sort of unruly behavior merits a sanction. “I decided to check in on volleyball practice, though.”

Daisuke raises and eyebrow as he cuts up a radish. He tries to make sure they’re uniform in size. He slices through the pieces slowly, the knife too dull to be precise. He frowns slightly as he speaks. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it was very interesting,” Takeda says, excitedly. “Apparently, we’ve recruited four new first years and one of them was an exceptional setter— ah, that’s a position— during middle school. The captain, Sawamura-kun, informed me that he had trouble with them initially because of clashing personalities, but he seems to have worked it out on his own in the end.”

“He sounds like a responsible kid,” Daisuke quips as he finishes chopping. He turns to wash his hands in the sink before placing the cut-up vegetables in the boiling pot on the stove. Takeda hums, walking towards the dining table and sitting on a chair. After a beat, Daisuke crosses his arms and looks at Takeda sideways. “How’s the coach?”

“Ukai-kun?” Takeda smiles. “His game sense is remarkable! He’s able to read the players and point out their strengths and weaknesses as though it were simple observations. I never would have been able to do that for the kids. I think, even though he’s not his grandfather, he’s also a valuable asset. It’s so lucky for us that he agreed to coach so soon.”

“I see.” Daisuke pauses, a curious expression taking root on his face. He puts a lid on the pot and turns the heat down low. “So… has he explained more about the whole knowing you from his past dilemma?”

“Ah,” Takeda murmurs, blinking at the segue. “A little.” He and Ukai had decided, in order not to make things exceedingly weird, to not bring up their, for lack of a better term, “past and future” as much as possible. Ukai had been the one to suggest it, in fact; that they let whatever will happen, and has happened, happen— without spoiling it or giving away too much for each other. Difficult as that might be in terms of navigating their interactions, it set boundaries for them that Takeda was more than grateful for. It gave them the opportunity to be, well, friends— to get to know each other, normally, before anything else.

“Do you ever wonder why?” Daisuke asks, setting the timer for fifteen minutes. He comes over to the dining table and sits next to Takeda, wiping his hands on his slacks. His voice is low when he continues: “Because I can’t help it.” He looks down, unable to meet Takeda’s eyes.

“Hm?” Takeda absently lets his leg touch his fiancé’s, coming closer instinctively at his unease. He reaches out to put a hand on his knee, stroking it with his thumb. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Daisuke responds, shrugging his shoulders, though he can’t fool Takeda into thinking he’s being nonchalant. He sighs defeatedly as takes Takeda’s hand in his, their fingers intertwining. “You’ve never visited my past.”

Takeda bows his head. Daisuke never said anything about it— was supportive in any way he could be— but Ukai turning up suddenly with his convoluted relationship with Takeda had likely bothered, if not frightened him. Takeda’s chest goes heavy. He would, if he could, make sure that they were forever bound together by time. “You know I can’t control it.”

“I know…” Daisuke replies. He tries for a smile. “It’s just… strange.”

Takeda lets go of Daisuke’s hand to twist the ring on his own finger. Without saying anything else, Daisuke laughs. “Okay,” he says leaning in. “You’re right.” He brings his hands to Takeda’s face and presses their lips together. Takeda closes his eyes as Daisuke begins to kiss down his jaw. He strokes the back of his head, thinking, _I’m home._


	7. Predilection

** November 3, 2012 **

**Ukai is 26, Takeda is 28**

Between the multiple balls flying around in the air and the smell of teenage body odor wafting throughout the gym, Ukai is sure he’s going to go crazy. There he is, flat on his back, with Takeda above him, pinning him down— their noses so close, they’re pressed together— literally touching. Sweat is trickling down Ukai’s forehead as they stare at each other, eyes wide. Takeda’s hands are on Ukai’s chest, which is just about to burst. They’re frozen like that, unable to pull away, stuck in _deja vu._

They’ve been here, in this exact position, before. They know.

It began like this: Ukai shows up for volleyball practice. He is greeted by a bunch of the third-year boys warming up and setting the court for the day. He shrugs off his jacket and removes his earrings, stuffing them into his sports bag, at ease. He walks to the corner of the gym and drops his things there, catching up with the students and their concerns. He can hear fast footsteps coming from the outside accompanied by yelling and it takes only a second to figure out why.

“ALRIGHT!” Tanaka shouts as he bursts through the doors, with Hinata riding on his shoulders, holding on for dear life. Far behind them, by the club room, is Nishinoya bellowing in frustration while struggling to lift Kageyama on his back. He runs after the first two in vain, a determined look on his face and a hand reaching out in front of him. Ukai looks to Sawamura to ask what the hell is going on. Sawamura shakes his head, glowering at the pairs. “Fired up as usual,” he sighs. “I wouldn’t know. Wait— Suga, don’t encourage them!”

At this point, Ukai’s got the team’s names and faces down pat— is familiar with their antics, for better or for worse. He knows what their skills are, what needs improvement; can give them solid guidance when the need arises (take that, gramps!)— Ukai might’ve agreed to coach on less than normal premises, but as time passed, he had to admit that the members were growing on him for real. He even tolerates their loitering at his store, every once in awhile. Gives them free nutrition bars and pork buns. Stuff like that.

Yet, during preliminaries, Karasuno lost to Aoba Josai. Sure, the game was well played, and it jarred everyone to the truth— Fallen champions. Flightless crows— That wasn’t them anymore. In fact, one could call them strong contenders. The sets were full ones, after all. But, as a team, they still had a long way to go.

Yamaguchi fixes the net alongside Ennoshita, and Azumane carries out the balls from the back with Tsukishima trailing along behind him. Nishinoya and Tanaka catch their breaths. Shimizu arrives with Yachi in tow, notebooks at the ready. Ukai claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, okay! Settle down. Don’t waste all your energy on wiping the floor with each other. Later, we’ll be doing drills with the spikers and setters. For now, let’s work on your serves.”

“Yes, coach!” The boys fall in line into three groups and start passing out the balls. “Repeat until you don’t miss,” Ukai tells them, leaning against the wall to watch. Just then, someone with dark, curly brown hair sticks their head in through the door he’s standing next to. They scan around the room before finding who they’re looking for— smiling brightly. “Ah, Ukai-kun!” 

“Oh,” Ukai says, a hand on his hip. “You’re here, sensei.”

In the time that he’d agreed to coach the Karasuno, and through them playing practice matches against Seijoh, Nekoma, and eventually going to the Inter-highs, Ukai and Takeda had gotten to know each other better. If it weren’t for the extra time-traveling baggage and childhood warping weirdness, they would be considered well-acquainted, if not closely working, colleagues. In the months that have gone by since their re-meeting, they see that they can count on each other now. Both are committed to giving their best efforts to the team and seeing them to nationals this year.

 _With_ the time-traveling baggage, though, is a whole different story that Ukai’s been trying his best to ignore and avoid. He told Takeda he wouldn’t mention it, for the sake of professionalism, but in reality, it just hurts to think about. The whole pining through adolescence thing that he had going on, and thought he had resolved, is now worse than ever. With Takeda clueless about their future-past, Ukai feels like he’s going insane. Ever since Ukai met Daisuke, he decided to keep all that he knew to himself, for fear of ruining something he wasn’t meant to mess with. He never knew Takeda had anyone else when he fell in love with him; never considered it, and Takeda never told him. But, now Ukai is staring the facts it in the face. Takeda wasn’t his at all. Perhaps, he never was. He’d have to hide any feelings for this man he’s loved his whole damn life, if it fucking killed him.

“I have news for the team!” Takeda says as he enters the gym and stands beside Ukai. He rolls up the sleeves of his green jacket before he continues: “Though we can wait telling the kids until after practice.”

“What is it?”

Takeda smiles even brighter. “We’re being invited by the Fukurodani Academy group to join their training camp.”

“Eh?” Ukai blinks. He clicks his tongue. “That’s huge for us, sensei.”

“Yes, coach Nekomata is the one to thank. He’s the one who got us in,” Takeda says, clearly pleased. He places a hand on Ukai’s shoulder. “Though, of course, he would never have given us a second glance if it weren’t for you, Ukai-kun.”

Ukai snorts. “Please. You might as well thank my dad for giving me my last name.”

“Your name is the last of the help you’ve given this team,” Takeda replies, a little too serious.

“Geez, sensei,” Ukai laughs dryly, trying to keep his cool. “Don’t make me blush.” He rubs the nape of his neck. He takes a deep breath before adding: “Speaking of names— I told you, Keishin is fine. It’s weird being called Ukai-kun after a lifetime of you addressing me by my first name, y’know?”

“Ah, yes. Of course, Ukai-ku— I mean, Keishin,” Takeda responds, bashful. Ukai doesn’t want to make Takeda uncomfortable; in fact, he should’ve kept his mouth shut about the whole thing. But, damn, it felt good to hear his name come from his voice again.

“By the way,” Takeda tells him, not meeting his gaze. “I’ve been meaning to ask... Do you happen to be free this Saturday?”

 _I’m always free for you_ , Ukai thinks, shrugging. “Pretty sure. Why? What’s up?”

“I was hoping we could go over the videos we were able to take of our possible opponents for the Spring Inter-high.”

“Oi, don’t you ever catch a break, sensei?”

Takeda crosses his arms. “If it’s for the team, I’ll gladly take the time.” 

“Okay, then,” Ukai replies without thinking. “It’s a date.”

Takeda blinks. He meets Ukai’s eyes, which are wide— _Fuck_ , he shouldn’t have said that— and breathes out a smile. Ukai is relieved to see it. “Yes. Okay. A da—“

Many things happen all at once. There’s a shout from in front of them (Kageyama: “Your form is sloppy, idiot! You can’t serve for shit!”) and a squeak of angry protest from Hinata who throws the ball he’s holding as hard as he can. the The fast ball comes towards Kageyama’s direction but he moves away just in time. Instead, the ball hits Takeda’s forehead, making him stumble and lose balance, pitching him sideways. He lands on Ukai who trips over his feet and falls backwards. He falls flat on his back with Takeda above him, his whole weight atop his.

“Sensei! Coach! I’m so sorry!” Hinata cries out, bowing down on the floor.

“Are you guys okay?” Sawamura asks, running to them.

They stay like that for what seems a thousand moments: Takeda’s knee between Ukai’s thighs. His hands on his chest. Their faces close together, as though that’s exactly where they belonged. Ukai remembers that afternoon, seven years ago, being exactly like this. In his new apartment. Alone together, under the sheets of his bed.

Someone coughs. The minute breaks. Takeda scrambles up, muttering apologies. Sawamura extends a hand and helps Ukai up, and Kageyama whacks Hinata in the head for being careless.

Ukai shakes his head at the two, pink in the face. “Don’t mind, guys, don’t mind.”


	8. Epiphany

** December 1, 2012 **

**Takeda is 28**

There’s a moment— a brief moment— before Takeda time travels, where he knows he’s about to be untethered from time.

It’s a moment where he feels the air pull out from his lungs, like it’s been punched out of him and he can’t fight back. It’s a moment where spots in his vision appear, white and whiter, as though consuming his sight whole.

Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes he feels a pang in his chest or his side or a throb in his temple, and then he goes translucent and disappears. Sometimes he goes out quiet, like a capsule dissolving in water; just phasing out of one existence and into another. He never knows which it’s going to be, never can control it. It’s all he can do to hold on to himself and hope he doesn’t appear in the middle of the road, into oncoming traffic. 

Still, in many ways, there’s a logic to where he travels to— familiar places, familiar occasions. It’s like a poem: Everything rhymes. He’s never wandered too far off from his own lifetime, only once visiting his mother before he was born. He’s never gone to a future time where he’s dead either. He just prays he stays somewhere close, or meets someone near, who knows about his condition and can help him get through it—

He had never considered that, perhaps, he was being drawn to someone like that in the first place.

This morning, Takeda wakes up with a headache. The pillow he lies on has a pool of drool on one corner. He’s sweating profusely, tangled in the bedsheets, wearing only his green boxer shorts. There is no one beside him, despite the bed being made for two, but there’s a smell of cooking eggs from outside the bedroom door. He turns on his side and glances at the digital clock on the dresser: _8:52 a.m_.

Sunlight seeps in from the window next to him, piercing through the half-raised blinds. He rubs his forehead as he starts to sit up and swings his legs off the bed. He presses the back of his hand to his cheek, checking for a possible fever. He takes his glasses from atop the dresser and puts them on, sliding them up the bridge of his nose. He tries to stand, but no— his chest constricts. He rises too fast and all the blood rushes to his head. His gut begins to ache, and his knees go weak. Immediately, he knows it’s a mistake.

His hands ball into fists. Before he has the chance to register his dizziness, his body dislocates itself into time. He fades away into the calendar’s expanse and gets lost in the years. _Please,_ he thinks. _Not now._ Not when Daisuke is waiting for him with breakfast.

His consciousness struggles to re-form and, in the midst of it, he feels his temperature drop. When he re-appears, he is somewhere dark. Somewhere familiar. He is somewhere entirely the same.

Almost.

** February 23, 2014 **

**Ukai is 27, Takeda is 28 and 30**

Takeda blinks. He’s greeted by the half-raised blinds in the bedroom, except now they’re exuding moonlight. He is standing where he left, on his side of the bed, having moved forward by, at most, a half an inch. The digital clock reads _3:45 a.m_., but beyond that he doesn’t have a clue when this moment is. He assumes he must have traveled to the past, to a few hours before sunrise. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, after all. 

He sighs. He hears Daisuke snoring behind him. Takeda feels too tired for someone who has just woken up. His headache continues as he sits back down on the bed, taking off his glasses and setting them on the dresser again. _If this is the past, where am I?_ He thinks. That is, the Takeda of _3:45 a.m_. He shakes his head, chiding himself and dismissing the thought. If time was set back, he might as well make the most of it and not grapple too hard about the logistics. He decides to sleep off the pain and deal with hassle of returning later, whenever that might be. He lies on his back and closes his eyes. He tries to fall into asleep.

As he settles down, the snoring stops. There’s a shift in the bed and Takeda is pulled into his fiancé’s embrace— the warmth of their bare skin spreading between them makes Takeda feel at ease. He feels the weight of Daisuke’s arm across his chest and the tender way he fits his head unto the crook of Takeda’s neck. Takeda snuggles back, burrowing himself in whatever space if left unfilled. Daisuke presses his lips against Takeda’s jaw and murmurs:

“Sensei.”

Takeda’s heart stops. A shiver goes down his spine. He opens his eyes and, lo-and-behold, the man holding him is _not_ his fiancé. No, the man has bleached blond hair, a low voice, and a breath that is literal smoke. The man is not Daisuke.

“You up for another round?” Ukai asks. He lets a finger play at Takeda’s waistband, brushing against his hip bone. “I am if you are,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss Takeda on the edge of his mouth while his hand slides off Takeda’s shorts.

Ukai Keishin, naked and loving, holding Takeda tight in his arms as though he belongs there. Ukai Keishin, who claims to have known Takeda his whole life; who knows Takeda better than Takeda knows himself. Ukai Keishin, the man who agreed to coach the men’s volleyball club with him, despite all odds. Ukai Keishin, who he’s been desperately avoiding his feelings for these past few months that he’s known him.

Takeda swallows. He doesn’t know what to do; how to even begin to understand what’s going on. Was this real? Was this a dream? What was Ukai doing in his and Daisuke’s apartment? Why was Ukai talking as though they were… together?

 _No, that can’t be_ , Takeda thinks. Surely this wasn’t real. He had been intrigued by Ukai at first, but that wasn’t significant, was it? Who wouldn’t be interested in a man that says you’re his childhood best friend from the future? What else could he do but be drawn to the sureness of Ukai’s smile? Takeda saw Daisuke in his travels, yes, but he never traveled to Daisuke from before he met him in the present or anything to that effect. That’s the only reason he’s been letting himself come close to Ukai, Takeda knows.

Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself as he lets Ukai stroke his cheek.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open. Takeda’s eyes dart to the sound. As the light from outside pours in, Takeda sees himself standing against the brightness.

“Keishin?”

Ukai looks up slowly and sees the Takeda standing by the door. He looks back at the man in his arms and then jumps.

“ _Sensei,"_ he exclaims, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. He gazes at Takeda on the bed with the exact the same body, same face, as the Takeda standing by the door. Ukai brings a hand to his face and rubs his eyes. The three are quiet for a second, taking in the situation.

“Ah, what year is it?” Takeda lying down asks Takeda standing up.

“2014,” he answers, walking towards the bed and sitting down on the edge.

 _So, it’s not a dream_ , Takeda thinks, propping himself up on his elbows. Not a different dimension, not an alternate universe. It was naïve of him to think so in the first place. No, it dawns on him like a pile of bricks hitting concrete. This? All this?

This is the future.

Takeda looks at Takeda, mortified. Was that why Ukai had suggested that they not bring up his time traveling that often? Takeda’s heart pounds, threatening to burst and rupture his ribs. Does that mean Ukai had known all along? Had known all along that, in the end, he and Takeda... were meant to end up with each other?

“It happens,” the other Takeda murmurs, as if reading his thoughts. He curls into Ukai, leaning against his tender muscles. Takeda pulls him into a soft kiss and Ukai, though still confused, lets him. Then, he pulls away, mumbling “Wait—” and touches the other Takeda’s hand.

“C’mere.”

Before he can answer, Ukai puts Takeda’s fingers to his lips and kisses each one individually. He kisses up his arm and onto his shoulder and ends up at Takeda neck. Takeda can’t think. He merely tilts his head backwards so that Ukai can kiss harder. As he falls back unto the pillow, he can’t understand why (despite the countless reasons to) he doesn’t want to say no.

Takeda— the present Takeda— nuzzles against Ukai’s back. His face burrows in his shoulder blades as his hand clutches Ukai’s bicep. Ukai bites down the younger Takeda’s collarbone and he moans, his free hand grabbing a fistful of the bedsheet. He turns on his side to face him, forehead to forehead; nose to nose. Ukai, sandwiched between his two lovers, breathes out his mouth, smiling. Takeda, chest light, feels himself smile back.

Suddenly, the older Takeda makes Ukai lay on his back then perches himself on top of him, kissing Ukai’s mouth hard. He grinds as he pulls on the brown roots of Ukai’s bleached hair to bring him closer, kiss him deeper. Then, as Ukai moans, he puts a hand over Ukai’s mouth, pressing his lips down Ukai’s throat. The other Takeda lays there, watching them, unable to move when Ukai’s hand reaches out for his own and guides it beneath the bedsheet and towards his hardness. As he finds a rhythm, Takeda feels his cock twitch as Ukai begins to thrust into his grip. He is sweating as his free hand reaches down to jerk-off the in-between of his own thighs.

The three of them continue like that, letting their bodies melt into a hot pile. Their skin goes numb at the relentless hunger for each other. There is no stalling the inevitable when all men fall back.

Takeda falls in love with Ukai, for better or for worse.


	9. Adolescence

**June 20, 2001**

**Ukai is 15, Takeda is 30**

“ _Fuck_ —“ Keishin curses under his breath. “Who’s there?”

He quickly snubs out the lit cigarette he has dangling on his finger and chucks it out the window. As the doorknob to his bedroom turns, he shoves the pack of sticks into his school bag and runs to switch on the electric fan to derail the smoke. He coughs into his fist and tries his best to look guiltless as the door creaks open. Then, a man with dark, curly brown hair and glasses pokes his head in.

“Oh—“ Keishin mutters, visibly relived. The man smiles back at him. “It’s just you.”

It’s just sensei and not his mom who he knows is watching the store and, therefore, shouldn’t be checking up on him in the middle of the day. His dad isn’t home either— probably busy delivering vegetables or some shit— which is why he’d thought the coast was clear enough to smoke. Keishin stands up and rummages for his cigarettes again, plopping on the bed once he finds them. Sensei comes into the room and closes the door behind him, leaning against it as Keishin looks up at him.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Nah,” Keishin answers, fumbling for his lighter. He’s used to sensei appearing at random, has been ever since he was 6. It’s not the special occasion that it once was, having a time traveler visit him; it’s a mundane sort of presence now, Keishin thinks, letting sensei hang around. No big deal.

“You shaved your hair,” Sensei notes, crossing the room and making space to sit on the floor. 

Keishin places a cigarette between his teeth and lights up, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he says, letting the smoke waft out of his mouth. He shaved his head mostly because his dad thought it made him look like a delinquent. Gone were the floppy black bangs that his mom loved to brush in favor of the more popular, more (or less) intimidating skinhead look. He was a man now and could make his own bad decisions, whether his parents whacked him in the head for it or not.

The two settle in silence for awhile, with Keishin getting up to blow smoke out the window and to tap the ash there, in the absence of a tray. Sensei waits for Keishin to say more, watching the teenager rebel with a certain calmness, un-phased by the aloof welcome and the uninspired remark. Eventually, Keishin’s back gets itchy from being looked at too long. He hates when adults do that.

“Wanna light, sensei?” Keishin says, mildly irritated, turning to the older man and tossing the box of cigarettes at him.

“Oh, no thank you.” Sensei catches the box and puts it down beside him on the floor. “I don’t smoke,” he admits, adjusting his glasses with a finger.

Keishin looks at him sideways, feigning disinterest. “You’re not gonna tell me off?” 

Sensei tilts his head at him. “Why would I do that?”

Keishin shrugs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Most adults do.”

A thoughtful look crosses sensei’s face; one that Keishin knows. It carries amusement at something from his past or future. Like an inside joke with himself.

“I don’t think it would make much of a difference.”

Keishin blinks, exhaling through his nostrils. While he doesn’t look it, was sensei actually, secretly cool? Keishin attempts to be nonchalant at the pronouncement (as he does with most things now), but he feels respect well-up inside him. 

“How has volleyball been?” He asks when Keishin doesn’t continue the conversation, stretching out his legs in front of him.

“It’s fine, I guess.”

“Your grandfather is coaching, right?”

“Yeah,” Keishin grumbles, vaguely displeased. “Gramps won’t cut me any slack. Not that I want him to, but it still sucks that I can’t be on the court.”

Sensei gives him a sympathetic look— which annoys Keishin (it’s only a syllable past pathetic, after all)— and starts to say something that’ll probably be along the lines of trying to make the boy feel better. However, Keishin cuts him off, unwilling to hear it. He charges onto a new topic without listening.

“We’re playing a practice match soon with this school in Tokyo called Nekoma.”

Despite being ignored, sensei smiles wide. “That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah,” Keishin replies, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “There’s this guy there I wanna beat.”

“Oh?”

Keishin pauses to look at his hands. He’s blasted through his whole cigarette and, again, throws the stub out the window. There’s something at the back of his mind that nags him at his own statement. He kicks his feet up and crosses his legs under him, restless.

“Sensei, are you married?”

Sensei laughs at the abrupt change in topic. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing,” Keishin says, defensively. He doesn’t meet sensei’s eyes. “Just wondering.”

“Not yet, no,” sensei responds, scratching his head. He lets a second pass before adding: “Maybe soon.”

“You’re engaged?” Keishin asks, shifting his position so that he’s facing the older man. “She must be nice,” he offers, giving a thumbs up.

“Well, no.” Sensei smiles up at Keishin when he looks confused. “That is, she’s not a she.”

“Oh,“ Keishin mumbles. He connects the dots. He’d never considered that possibility before. He hadn’t expected sensei to answer his question in the first place, given how evasive he could be. He hadn’t expected sensei to be, well... like him.

“That’s... allowed?” Keishin asks, trying to keep his voice even.

Sensei looks at him squarely. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“The guy I wanna beat...” Keishin murmurs. “His name’s Naoi.”

“Do you like him?” Sensei asks.

Keishin turns away.

**September 12, 2014**

**Ukai is 28, Takeda is 30**

Takeda fades into the bedroom and catches Ukai walking by outside, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a white towel. Takeda steps by the door and crosses his arms, watching his boyfriend set the dining table. He is singing the words to some obscure folk song, oblivious to Takeda’s sudden presence.

“I visited you again.”

Ukai jumps, clutching at his towel. He whirls around to face him. “ _Fuck_ — Don’t scare me like that.”

Takeda chuckles, walking over to him. “I think you might’ve been 14 or 15.”

“Oh?” Ukai puts an arm around him. “And how’d that go?”

“You never told me you had a crush on Nekoma’s assistant coach.”

Ukai flushes. “Forgot about that.”

“I presume he’s your type,” Takeda teases.

“Please— I was, what, fifteen and horny?” Ukai snorts, shaking his head and pulling Takeda closer. “Plus, Naoi’s straight as they come. I never stood a chance.”

“That’s good,” Takeda murmurs into Ukai’s bare chest. “I didn’t think I could compare.”

“Don’t tell me you're jealous, sensei,” Ukai laughs, lifting his chin up with a finger.

“Of course not—” Takeda tries to answer before Ukai presses their lips together. They stay like that for what seems like all the time in the world.


	10. Tipping Point

**December 1, 2012**

**Ukai is 27, Takeda is 29**

“Welcome.”

Ukai grips Daisuke’s hand and gives it a shake. “Thanks for having me,” he replies. It’s around 8 p.m. The apartment is cleaned up for Takeda’s guest, in the manner of someone who tried his best with what he had at hand— Paperwork was put away, lingering items of clothing were stuffed in the closet, and refreshments are laid out on the table in front of the television. The place could pass for inspection, if Ukai cared to— which he didn’t, but the effort was appreciated all the same. 

“It’s our pleasure,” Takeda answers, stepping past the two. He is carrying a plastic bag full of snacks. He makes his way to the living room portion of the apartment and begins laying them out. “I’m just glad you could make time.”

“Yeah, well, I wanna see how far those kids can go,” Ukai quips, following Takeda’s suit and helping him unpack the (to be honest, more than necessary amount of) junk food. As he does, their hands reach for the same bag of chips at the same time. Both men pause to look at each other, almost shy of blushing, before Ukai takes the snack and sets it on the table.

Takeda grins warmly in response. “Me too.”

“What’s the agenda for tonight?” Daisuke asks, walking to the dining table and grabbing a chair to sit on. He crosses his legs and drapes an arm along the chair’s back. He watches as Ukai sits on the couch and Takeda settles beside him.

“Ukai-kun and I are going to be watching matches of our possible opponents for nationals,” Takeda responds, reaching for the remote control and turning on the TV. “It’s like doing research for what might come up during a game.”

“Sounds riveting,” Daisuke remarks, brushing his long, light brown hair out of his eyes. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be checking these thesis submissions for the month.”

“Alright,” Ukai says, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get started. Where’s the CD player, sensei?”

“Oh, here!” Takeda gets up and goes around the table to kneel down by the television’s base. Him and Ukai stare at each other for a second, expectantly. Takeda extends a hand, waiting.

“Uh—“ Ukai mumbles. “Where’s the CDs?”

Takeda blinks. “You don’t have them?”

“Gave them to you, sensei.”

“Oh, no,” Takeda says, smacking his forehead. “You’re right. I must have left them in the car.” He gets up and sighs, walking towards the front door again. “For awhile, Ukai-kun.“

Ukai nods and leans back into the couch. He eyes the snacks, wondering if he should open one for the sake of doing so. He decides against it, opting to wait for Takeda to come back; not wanting to look like a pig. A minute passes, and he’s mildly uncomfortable in the silence he’s sharing with the other man in the room. He’s debating on whether to say something, however menial, to kill the quietness when Daisuke calls him before he can open his mouth.

“Ukai.”

“Yeah?” Ukai turns to the sound of his name. It makes his skin prickle, though he doesn’t notice it. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ukai struggles not to wince. “That so?”

“Yes. You’ve known Ittetsu since you were a child?”

“Yeah.” 

Ukai doesn’t know what to feel about Daisuke. What he does know about him, he only learned secondhand from Takeda: Like the fact that he’s an english professor, or that he likes to eat steamed fish, or that he’s getting married to the love of Ukai’s life in a year from now. Ukai knows he shouldn’t be... jealous (if one could call it that) of a man who, basically, has never done anything wrong (except beat him to meeting Takeda). It’s not like he had control over that, Ukai knows. In fact, he’s only done what Ukai wishes he could have in the span of a normal timeline. Ukai tries his best to remember this when he answers him, tries not to make a distasteful face or have a disrespectful tone. He thinks that Daisuke is a decent guy, in all probability, especially if Takeda’s willing to marry him. He’s probably smart and polite and not a loser.

Yet, Ukai can’t help but feel anything but... resentful.

“That must have been a strange experience,” Daisuke comments with an even voice, staring at the folders in front of him.

“Sure.”

“What is it like? Knowing him now?” 

“Sorry?”

“I mean, having to get to know him again and all that business. You must have grown somewhat attached to my fiancé, I’m sure,” Daisuke says without looking up.

“Uh,” Ukai responds, eloquently. “Yeah. It’s weird, I guess.”

Daisuke faces Ukai, a small smile on his lips. “Not too attached, I hope?”

“What?” Ukai chokes. Sweat trickles down his back. _Where is Takeda?_ he finds himself thinking, suddenly unnerved.

“You heard me.”

Ukai opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Daisuke waits for him to speak with an eyebrow raised. When Ukai can’t answer, Daisuke simply laughs. He stands up from his chair and crosses his arms.

“Listen. I don’t mean to sound rude. I know you and Ittetsu are... close... in some... unavoidable way.”

“Excuse me?”

“I trust Ittetsu,” Daisuke says, shrugging his shoulders. “But, to be frank, I’m not sure if I trust you.”

Ukai blinks, unsure of what he’s hearing. He feels his heart pounding (angrily?) in his chest. Bewildered, he stammers without making a sentence, and then shuts his mouth, going red.

“You and your relationship with him, that is,” Daisuke continues, coming towards him and standing just a foot away. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down on Ukai. His eyes are cold despite his casual demeanor. 

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you think is going on, but—“

“Please,” Daisuke cuts him off. “I’m not blind.” 

Ukai stands up as well and addresses him gruffly. “If you trust _your_ fiancé that much, why don’t you confront him about your bullshit?” 

Daisuke laughs out loud. “He wouldn’t know what his future and your past have together. You do.”

Ukai flushes, unable to look Daisuke in the eye. He clenches his jaw, trying to not to lose his cool. He doesn’t want to cause a scene, not when Takeda can come back any second, but goddamn— he hates this guy.

“You’re in love him, aren’t you?”

Ukai’s chest gives in, feeling embarrassed and exposed— read for what he is, for what he’s been playing at, what he shouldn’t be indulging in the first place. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet, eyebrows furrowed like he’s about to have an aneurysm. Had he been that careless? Had he been too affectionate? He trusted himself not to give too much away. How could Daisuke know so well what he was feeling?

“He’s with me.”

“I know that.”

“Good. I just thought I’d remind you.”

Daisuke turns away and walks back to the dining table where he came from. He puts a hand on the folders he has spread out and picks one up. He begins to read through its contents, sitting down again.

“I feel bad for sensei if he’s gonna get married to someone like you,” Ukai mutters through grit teeth.

“ _When_ he’s going to get married,” Daisuke corrects him, a sharp edge to his tone.

Ukai knows he shouldn’t engage; he’s been put in his place. Not lover, not friend: Just co-worker. Assistant coach. Still, he feels hot and unprepared to give up the argument. “You don’t know that,” he snaps back. “You don’t know what happens— what will happen between us.”

“He won’t choose you,” Daisuke shoots him down, rising quickly from his chair. He glares at Ukai who smirks at him. 

“And what if he already has?”

Daisuke then charges at him, his calm facade shattered, and with two hands, grabs the front of Ukai’s shirt. Ukai stumbles backward, caught off-guard, the balls of his feet catching both of their weights.

“Take that back!” Daisuke shouts, shaking him hard. Ukai, rough and raging, pushes him off by the shoulders. Daisuke, though taller, leaner, and less muscular than Ukai, refuses to budge. Instead, he sends a firm right fist to hit Ukai’s chin with all the raw strength he can muster. Ukai, not expecting that sort of move, dodges too late. Daisuke’s fist connects with his nose, and gets him reeling. He flies backwards and slams into the wall with the back of his head. The front door opens. Takeda barges in, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

“What on earth—?” He blurts out, facing the two men. They glower at each other, baleful, ignoring Takeda’s presence. Daisuke, breathing heavily, and Ukai with blood dripping down his nose, unto his chin. “What happened?” Takeda asks, letting the CDs in his hand drop to the floor.

“Nothing,” Ukai growls, wiping the blood off his face with an arm. It must have hurt him to do so but he doesn’t show it. He walks away from Daisuke and pushes past Takeda. “Sorry, sensei,” he mutters. He walks out the open door. “Can’t do this anymore.”

Takeda tries to grab Ukai’s arm but he wrenches himself away. Takeda looks to Daisuke who has red-rimmed eyes. “Daisuke—?” He asks, unable to move.

“Let him go,” Daisuke says. “He said he’s had enough.”

Takeda sputters, incredulous, and turns to follow Ukai. As he passes through the door, he hears Daisuke call out: “Tettsun.” He stops in his tracks.

Takeda knows it means to stay, knows Daisuke is telling him not to go.

Takeda runs after Ukai without another word.


	11. Birthday

** April 5, 2005 **

**Ukai is 19, Takeda is 30**

When his vision clears and his surroundings settle, Takeda is greeted by a lonely futon. As his hands fade in, become present and solid, he understands that he has no idea where he is. It wouldn’t be a first, though it’s been awhile, since he’s time traveled to a completely new place. This little box of a room with barren walls, a small cabinet, and a lone desk is all unfamiliar to him. He recognizes, though, the man with bleached blonde hair that he’s appeared behind— his back to him, hunched over a magazine on the table— absorbed in whatever he’s reading. He doesn’t think twice before speaking out, to ask what poorly furnished place he’s chanced upon.

“Where are we?”

“Gah!” Keishin jumps, hitting his head on the wall next to him, what with the little space there is to move around. He rubs at the part where he’s bumped his head, hoping the impact doesn’t make for a bruise. His free hand clutches at his chest where his heart has just about burst out of. He turns to face Takeda with an exasperated expression, one that makes it seem like this has happened before.

“Ah, I’m sorry!” Takeda apologizes, frantically waving his hands in front of him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Keishin exhales, catching his breath. He flips the magazine he was reading closed. “S’alright,” he tells Takeda. He leans a hip on the desk, setting his weight on it. He tries to sound casual in spite of himself. “This is my new place. I moved out a few weeks ago.”

The room smells like stale smoke and dried-out sweat. Light comes solely through the fluorescent bulb above them; there isn’t a window in sight. Clothes are spilling out of the cabinet and Takeda can hear something leaking. “It’s lovely,” he says, smiling wide.

“It’s shit, but thanks,” Keishin snorts, crossing his arms. “Feel free to, uh, sit down or something. The futon’s clean, anyway.”

Takeda takes the two steps needed to reach the futon and squats before he can lumber down on it. As he smooths it out underneath him, Keishin hops off the desk and sits down beside Takeda. He rubs the nape of his neck, almost awkward. “It’s my birthday, actually.”

“Oh!” Takeda’s eyes go wide, first, and then soften. “Happy birthday, Keishin,” he greets, pressing their shoulders together.

“I’m 19 now,” Keishin states, pointing a thumb at himself. There is something in his tone that suggests pride.

“You are,” Takeda nods, fondly. He’s grinning ear to ear. “I would have brought a gift I had known I’d be seeing you right now.”

“S’alright,” Keishin says, nudging the older man. “It’s the thought that counts or something.”

“So, what are you up to today?”

“I was thinking of meeting up with Shimada and the guys later,” Keishin admits, shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing special, just to eat out. Get some drinks. Try not to puke or whatever.” He gives Takeda a sidelong glance. He hesitates before speaking. “But, ah, I dunno.”

“What’s wrong?”

Keishin’s voice comes out even but his expression is unreadable. “Nothing. It’s just… you’re here now.”

“Oh, don’t let me get in the way of your plans!” Takeda exclaims, worriedly. “I’ll time travel back before you know it. You should celebrate with your friends. Have fun with them today! This is a special occasion, after all.”

Keishin smriks. “Aren’t you my friend, sensei?”

“I— of course I am,” Takeda replies, confused by the question. Keishin is looking down at his knees. Takeda raises and eyebrow and touches the younger man’s shoulder. Keishin shifts so that he’s directly facing Takeda.

“Are we just friends?”

“Keishin?” Takeda says, his eyebrows knitting together. For some reason, it’s as though he feels the temperature in the room go up. The heat in Keishin’s gaze is palpable. Takeda tries not to falter in it.

“I’ve known you my whole life. I mean, I’ve met you so many times and… Growing up, I think… I mean— damn, _I_ don’t know what I mean.” Keishin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes tight. Takeda studies the consternation in his face as he says: “Isn’t there... more to this?”

Time stops for a second. Takeda swallows. He’s not sure how their interaction had escalated into such a confrontation. It’s almost as if Keishin can see through him, the future events that he’s been keeping to himself. Keishin had probably been building up to this for a while now.

“I think,” Takeda says, slowly. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Am I?” Keishin asks, opening his eyes. It’s obvious he’s made his case before, to another Takeda no doubt. Perhaps an older Takeda. A Takeda with more restraint.

“There’s still the future for... things to happen,” Takeda reminds Keishin gently. “We’ll meet each other in my present soon enough.” However, the blush on Takeda’s face betrays him. He realizes that the boy he once knew is all grown up.

Keishin barely lets him finish before responding: “But I love you now.”

Takeda is taken aback. He blinks a number of times to make sure he’s heard it right. Keishin refuses to let him look away. Something about his youth allows for this rashness in words; an older Ukai would never have dared to say something so raw. So real. 

When Takeda doesn’t answer, Keishin leans in, closing the gap between the two of them. He tilts his head and lets their noses brush against each other, their foreheads only centimeters apart. Takeda stays still, breathing heavily. He shuts his eyes in anticipation. “Don’t worry about the gift, sensei,” Keishin murmurs as their lips meet each other. “This is all I ever wanted.”

Takeda lets Keishin kiss him, first lightly, then deeper, cupping his face with two hands. Takeda responds by holding Keishin’s neck and stroking the edge of his jaw with a thumb, the tenderness lacking in the younger man’s hunger. They make out like that, gasping for air every other second or so, letting their tongues slip in each other’s mouths. Takeda is sweating when Keishin’s hands come down to the hem of his shirt, touching the exposed skin of his hip. Then, he feels tug by his waist and his belt unbuckle. Takeda pulls away, looking into Keishin’s eyes.

“Ah—“

“I’m 19 now.”

“I know.”

“So please.”

Takeda swipes off his belt and throws it across the room. He smiles at Keishin, shyly. “Happy birthday.”

The two spend the rest of the time stripping each other of their clothes. Keishin takes Takeda’s glasses off and puts them aside. Takeda pulls Keishin’s shirt over his head and helps him out of his jeans. Keishin takes his time unbuttoning Takeda’s shirt, kissing down the older man’s smooth chest with a youthful vigor and inexperience. It tickles Takeda when he does. When they’re both naked, Takeda lets Keishin fall back unto the futon and sets himself on top of him. They make love for what seems like too short a time.

“Sensei,” Keishin breathes into Takeda’s collarbone, all spent. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Takeda whispers, stroking the body that he’s grown to love in the past few years, all vital and new with the turned back clock. “I love you too, Keishin.”

They stay together in each other’s arms, ready to fall asleep, when Takeda winces all of a sudden. “Are you alright?” Keishin asks, stirring against Takeda’s chest. Takeda looks down at his own hands.

“I’m fading.”

Keishin holds Takeda even tighter, even closer, despite the older man turning translucent. “Don’t go— please...” He murmurs. Takeda gives him one last kiss as Keishin presses a hand to his face. Gradually, Keishin’s fingertips can only feel the faint heat of the moment before he disappears.


	12. Lover (3)

** December 19, 2012 **

**Takeda is 29**

“Merry Christmas, Takeda-sensei!”

“Merry Christmas!” Takeda replies, giving his co-teacher a warm smile as she leaves. It’s the end of the last day of school for the year and everyone is heading home. Takeda is packing up his work, stuffing what he can into his backpack. Another one of his co-teachers peers at him from above his cubicle, sipping from a thermos of coffee.

“Plenty of gifts you got there, eh?” His colleague winks, patting him on the back. “Your students hoping to supplement their grades?”

Takeda laughs, waving a dismissive hand. “I believe they have good intentions.”

As he’s placing his presents in a plastic bag for easier carrying, the same teacher taps him on the shoulder. He points to the doorway where two boys are standing. “Looks like you have a few visitors, Take-chan.”

“Sugawara-kun? Sawamura-kun?” Takeda asks, walking towards his students with a raised brow. He adjusts his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose in default concern. “What can I do for you? Is something the matter?”

“Oh no, sensei,” Sugawara answers quickly, putting him at ease. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s the opposite, actually. We just finished cleaning up the gym and we thought we’d drop by.”

“Ah, is that so?”

Sawamura nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me and Suga wanted to give you something on behalf of the team, to show our appreciation.” The boy zips open the sports bag hanging off his shoulder and fishes out a neatly wrapped parcel with a card addressed to Takeda. “You’ve done so much for us, and now we’re going to Nationals. It’s really a blessing having you as our adviser.”

Takeda’s heart pounds in his chest, pleasantly surprised at how kind the boys on the team can be. He doesn’t notice that he’s teary-eyed and takes the gift with a watery smile.

“That’s very thoughtful of all of you,” he says, bowing slightly. “Thank you, it means the world.”

Sawamura and Sugawara grin, greeting their teacher “Merry Christmas!” before waving goodbye and walking away. Takeda watches the two leave. He feels lighter than before.

After, he retrieves his things and walks out the school. He gets in his car and takes the short drive home. Then, with an armful of plastic bags, he trudges up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.

“I’m home!” He calls out when he opens the door, his keys jangling when he pockets them again.

As he shucks off his shoes and enters the apartment, he realizes that the room’s lights are off. He raises an eyebrow as he switches them on. _That’s odd_ , he thinks, tilting his head. It’s around the time that Daisuke would be cooking dinner, if not a little later, he knows. _Maybe he’s resting and forgot_ , Takeda reasons. It must have been a busy day for him, too. He walks towards the kitchen.

Takeda sets down his gifts on the dining table. He doesn’t notice that there aren’t any papers to move aside. He arranges them so that they are stacked and don’t take up too much space. He wonders if he and his fiancé will buy a tree this year, like they say they will every year, to put the presents under. For now, he supposes, this will have to do.

It’s eerily quiet when he walks towards the bedroom, opens the door, and turns on the light. He finds no one there. In fact, there’s less than that. There are several items gone: the books lying around, the slippers on the floor, and the pillow on one side of the bed. Takeda blinks and sees the closet door left open. He walks towards it finds half of the clothes missing.

Instead, on the closet’s bottom, there’s a piece of paper with a ring sitting on top of it. Takeda picks it up, reads through it once, and sets the letter down again.

He sits down on the floor, takes off his glasses, and buries his head in his hands.

***

_Itettsu,_

_Do you know the moment I fell in love with you?_

_It was a night, back in college, when you were visiting my dorm room. We had been dating for, perhaps, a month or so, and we were both up to our eyeballs in schoolwork. I don’t know if you remember this because you were only half-awake, cramming as much information as you could into the required word count, but I was on the verge of tearing my hair out, calling my father, and dropping out altogether. The stress of finishing my dissertation on-time was going to my head and I made an off-hand comment about wanting to give up. However, you had just enough energy to take my had, kiss it, and say: I think we’ll survive this._

_I’m sorry._

_These past few months have made it evident that you and I no longer belong together._

_Ukai’s presence in our lives– in your life– has made it increasingly difficult for us to proceed as we have done so all these years. Your shared past/future together has left me questioning my place in our relationship. More than that, I believe your general fondness for him exceeds whatever unchronological encounters you both have had and will have._

_In other words, I’ve seen how you light up at the mere mention of his name. Did you think you could hide that from me?_

_I know that there is no changing what is set in stone. Even so, I tried. I hoped that, somehow, there would be an outcome where we would be the ones together, in the end. Our engagement was not made on a whim, after all. I thought we could be married, happy, and content by next June._

_Please know that it pains me to admit that I was wrong._

_Personally, I don’t understand why it had to be him. I know there’s volleyball and your students, but aside from that? I don’t know. It’s as if the universe went ahead and bound you two together without any regard for others. It went out of its way to upend the impossible. I mean, he even loved you before he ever learned your name._

_How can I ever compare to that?_

_I’ve always loved you in spite of time, Itettsu. But, your love with him is time in itself._

_I’m very sorry I have to leave this way, I really am. I don’t know what else to do._

_You two deserve each other. I mean it._

_With love,_

_Daisuke_


End file.
